Parts of the body
by MadClairvoyant
Summary: Every part of the body meant something.
1. Hands

Hands were simple things. But they were almost like names. Things that could easily identify someone.

Irene had the hands of a princess. The skin soft, pampered with herbs from birth. Never touched by hard work. But the delicate fingers gripped tightly, and even when they do not exert much force, the desperation behind the action was evident. Much like the girl herself. Harsh from the inside, crushing her soul and other's savagely. Her body, yet, was never damaged from the emotional torture she suffered from. Every hardship was carefully concealed; it would only be a weakness to show her true self. She had always been a child.

Gen had the hands of a rebel. Or rather, hand. The absence of the other was a mute testimony to his real nature. The other skin had dark skin, typical of his countrymen, and which had him distinguished from everyone else. They think him strange and foreign, but he had never been afraid of being different. The scars on the back crisscrossed in a pattern, like the careful dance of shadows and unsubstance his life was. Its seeming fragility belied the deadly strength beneath. Despite how reduced he was, missing one hand, and the other almost like a mangled piece of flesh, his pretty fingers were long for a boy, and nimble, twisting and graceful. He had never been a child.

Helen had the hands of a queen. A warrior indeed. They were intact, unlike her cousin's, but not smooth like nobility's. Callouses covered much of it, and they were often smudged with ink. Clearly, she was not afraid to work hard, to get herself dirty for the best of her country. A brilliant leader, tinted still by the recklessness of youth, which was slowly fading, the harsh reality hammering it out of her. She had the trademark dark skin, but instead of being hated for it, she was loved and cherished. She was once a child, but she shed some of her naivety, yet none of her energy.

Sophos has the hands of a king. They were strong, yet always gentle and contemplative. He had the telltale calluses from a sword, but they were awkward around the weapon. Instead, they looked more at home curled around a quill, creating lines of beautiful cursive, borne of a certain patience. Or gingerly flipping through the old scrolls in the library, careful not to damage it. He was once a child, and even after slavery took his naivety away, he kept his child-like wonder of the world.

If there was something is common amongst their hands, it was the fact that they were all dripping blood.


	2. Eyes

If eyes were the windows to a soul, then they were houses designed by their circumstance.

Irene had dark eyes. They were often cold, and rigid, just another part of the mask that she bore. It was a heavy burden; they were a heavy burden. Her eyes showed her things that she did not want to see. That the very princess she envied had grown into the very queen she hated. That her people needed a queen to love, and not to be afraid of. On the other end, no one could see into her eyes, which were like wooden boards. They hid everything that she did not want others to see until one day, there was nothing left to hide. Her house was an empty house, with no one living inside anymore.

Gen had dark eyes too. In contrast, they were like molten steel set in the fires that softened them. Long dark tunnels that stretched so deep in. They seeked not to hide things, but if you looked into them, all you could see was that there were things lurking at the back, but none of which you can actually identify. It began as a spark, a comforting spark that warmed you thoroughly when you looked in; lulled you into a false sense of security. Then, as time passed, the fire in them grew. Slowly, their temperatures rose until they were scalding to look at, and they seared your soul after peering into them. Bared everything, always taking, never giving back. Soon, though, the fire ran out of things to burn, and started to consume the very soul inside, until it was ashes. There was nothing left in his eyes anymore, not even himself, except the raging fire that could never be satiated, but ever kept alive by madness. His house was long since vacated, having shattered its owner.

Helen had light eyes. Dark, like most of her family, but lighter than most. A pretty shade of brown, almost hazel. They were warm and had a degree of transparency in them that was unusual. A young girl resided in them, ever smiling kindly. She never complained, and turned every obstacle into an opportunity. Like a mother, and always looking out for others. She was a good friend, a good sister, but deep inside there was always something a little broken about the girl. Something sad and disappointed, as if she regretted failing someone. Her house never fell into disrepair though, because she always picked up the pieces.

Sophos' eyes were the lightest out of them. They were a crystal blue, characteristic of the invaders' light colouring; blond hair, blue eyes. They were well matched with the sweet smile and almost child-like wonder. A certain curiosity yet undestroyed and untainted by the world. His soul was most certainly there, and the eyes were not empty or void of life; ever a child inside, graceful and happy, like never in life. His house was slightly damaged, but always remained intact.


	3. Hearts

Hearts were terrible things; they always said the worst things.

Irene hated her heart. It was a human weakness, and one that she could not afford to have. The one thing she tried so hard to suppress always came back to haunt her. It told her things like _should you not remember your brother_? Or _why hate the princess if it is not her fault_? Or _is there naught a reason that makes you weep for the thief_? It mattered not to her. They were insignificant in her plans for her country. (Always for her country, never for herself). But the heart stopped her from ignoring things like that, and she hated it for it.

Gen thought that his heart was rather redundant. Anything else could take over its function (emotionally that is, not physically). He did not need emotions to complicate matters; _do you not love her_? Or made him guilty when he plotted a prank that he knew would get poor Helen in trouble. No, he certainly could do without it. As for other things, like making decisions, his brain worked perfectly fine without that upstart. In conclusion, he thinks that his heart is irritating, useless, and currently, as of three in the morning, preventing him from getting any sleep.

Helen likes her heart just fine. It helps her make the right decisions; _there is a difference between making decisions and the right ones_, and she finds it rather important. Also, it gives her patience and values that are similar, which she finds very important when trying hard not to strangle her cousins, one thief in particular. Sometimes it hurts though, like when her brothers died, because a heart gave her _feelings _that were hard to deal with, but she thinks that maybe that was what made her, _them,_ human.

Sophos thinks that he will probably live without his heart, though it helps me along in life. It gives him pity, which he thinks he might find trying when dealing with traitorous fools like Ion Nomenus. Compassion is something he has learned that he values a lot, _in contrary to his uncle, _and anything that allows him to be different from Sounis is something worth cherishing.


	4. Brains

Brains are essential parts of our body. As to what the thing between the ears is like, and how it is used…

Irene was clever. Always, ever since she had been a child. A quiet girl, pretending that she did not have a mind of her own; yet weaving her plots and her anger into the dresses and handkerchiefs. She had long since learned that she would live in this place better if she just pretended that she did know anything. She would tell herself that until she thought that she believed it. She did not know that she was only an unwanted child. _She knew._ She did not know that they were trying to kill her father. _She knew._ She did not know that she was trapped in this place. _She knew. _She did not know that she would be packed off and sold like cattle for a treaty with some lord in a far distant region. _She knew._ What she did know was that if she said these to herself often enough, she would think that they will not happen. (She should have known better.)

Gen had the most convoluted brain ever. In fact, one would find it rather easy to get lost in that twisted paths and trains of thoughts. It was a challenge to navigate carefully through, because one slip, one wrong turn, and you are gone. (He was brilliant at mind games.) So, you had to know where you are going. Keep in mind the goal, never lose sight of it, or get distracted. Remember, the treasure you seek is hidden somewhere, probably in the walls in a suitably sneaky fashion. Don't worry, as long as you make sure the doors are always kept open, you can trace your way back. (Or if you fail, there is always company at the front of the maze in the form of fellow skeletons!)

Helen had a very simple and organized mind, that was flat, and separated into different compartments that got renamed and recycled as circumstances called for. As a child, they had been 'how to deal with arrogant older brothers and not-so-bright cousins', 'what errands have I been assigned', 'things carefully drilled into my head by my tutors', 'useless etiquette lessons by aunts with very shrill voices', and a very special one reserved for 'keeping Gen in one piece for as long as possible.' As she grew older, the compartments were further split into more categories, and it was all she could do to keep on going. Of course, more important things like 'making sure my country doesn't collapse' took precedence over others, especially those like dealing with high and mighty brothers who were not there anymore. The 'keeping Gen safe' was harder and harder, since he was increasingly reckless, but she always tried. Slowly, the many things crowded her mind, squeezing out personal thoughts, try as she might to hold on to them. Especially Gen, who drifted further and further away until one morning, she woke up to find that he wasn't there anymore. It was not like she was unaware that he had left, that she was part of the negotiations, but it hurt, more than she ever realized. So she locked him away, in a secret compartment in her brain, and no one would ever be able to take those memories away, like they took him away.

Sophos' brain was very much like a sponge. There were some who scorned it, thinking it to be too soft to survive in this world. Then, even his friends, would laugh at his ignorance and how easily the sponge bended to the will of the everyone else. But no; they did not understand. In this world, where everything had to be worth a sizeable value, the most precious thing was being able to absorb all that was around us; to be pliable and accepting. It wasn't just a commodity; innocence was priceless.


End file.
